Healing
by mettigel
Summary: Yes, this has been done to death, but I decided to give it a shot. Some missing moments from Shell Cottage, from Ron's PoV. COMPLETE.
1. Escaping

**Author's Notes:**** This story fills some gaps from the trio's stay at Shell Cottage with what I think could have happened right after their escape from Malfoy Manor, with focus on Ron and Hermione. It will use some references from HP7, though, of course, I don't claim to own any of those. Everything you recognize belongs to the genius that is JKR. :-)**

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Ron felt as if he was in a bad dream as he was standing in the salon of Malfoy Manor, frozen to the spot by a sickening mixture of fear, desperation and fury. His gaze, like everyone else's, was fixed on Bellatrix who was standing right underneath the huge crystal chandelier that brightly illuminated the large room and bathed the female Death Eater in an grotesque, eerie light. Her left arm was wound around Hermione's chest, pressing her tightly to herself. To Ron's immense relief, Hermione was wonderfully living but still, she was unconscious and badly bruised from what must have been at least twenty minutes worth of torture. Bellatrix' right hand was still holding her dagger level with Hermione's throat, ready to make the deadly cut as soon as he or Harry made a wrong move. Ron knew that Bellatrix was not bluffing. Only a few moments before, she had scratched Hermione's throat with that very same dagger, just to prove exactly that. He could still see a tiny trickle of blood running down her neck from the wound that the dagger had produced.

"...we ought to tie those little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood," Bellatrix said with a nonchalance that made Ron's stomach turn over. "I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, after what you have done tonight." _[1]_

He was barely able to contain himself any longer, his entire body shaking with dread, his breath fast and shallow. The whole situation was unbearable. There he was, no more than twenty feet away from Hermione and Bellatrix and there was nothing he could do to help her.

He was such a rubbish friend, he thought to himself with a feeling of self-disgust. Not only had he abandoned Harry and Hermione months ago in a fit of childish jealousy of Harry, but even now that he had returned, he was of no use. He had failed to protect Hermione, failed to prevent her torture through that awful hag, failed to be with her when she had needed him most.

He was not sure what felt worse - being locked up down in the Malfoys' dark, moldy cellar hearing Hermione's agonized screams, almost physically feeling her pain, as she was being tortured, or being here, forced to helplessly watch Hermione being killed and eventually fed to that bastard Greyback. He was feeling so weak and useless. This couldn't be happening, he thought in despair as his gaze flickered to the werewolf who was shuffling on bowed legs towards Bellatrix from the far end of the salon, licking his lips in a revolting manner. Hermione couldn't die, mustn't die, not tonight and definitely not like that! The thought of Hermione dead almost made him break into sobs again. He couldn't, _didn't want to_ live if she was no more.

Just when his desperation had reached its peak, Ron heard an ominous creak above him and horror overcame him as he realized what was about to happen, yet he could not avert his eyes from it.

In an oddly slow fashion, as if somebody had tampered with time and decreased its pace, the chandelier above Bellatrix came from the ceiling. Having realized it, too, Bellatrix dove out of the way, shoving Hermione roughly to the floor, and with an unnaturally loud sickening noise of glass shattering, the chandelier crashed to the floor, burying Hermione and Griphook underneath it.

Ron did not even think. He instantly darted over to the chandelier while at the same time, the battle resumed. Jets of light came flying from all directions, some missing Ron only by a hairbreadth, but he did not care, his mind entirely set on Hermione and Hermione alone. Having reached the chandelier, he dropped to his knees and started to dig her out of the debris, cutting his hands and arms in the process. He neither stopped nor slowed down, though; all his physical pain and concern about his own well-being were practically nonexistent in comparison to his fear of what he might find once he would get through to Hermione. The chandelier was so large and had fallen from such great height; surely the impact was enough to kill a person. He unsuccessfully tried to shake this thought off his mind. He had seen the effing thing fall down, he thought, his insides burning with guilt. He had seen it fall and just been standing there, watching like an idiot, and not done anything to stop it. Then he numbly remembered that he had surrendered his wand to Bellatrix moments before. He could not have done anything about it. Still, it did not make him feel any better.

Eventually, he managed to grab Hermione under her armpits and to pull her out from under the chandelier onto his lap. He gave a shudder when he saw that she was looking just as bad as he had feared. Her hair was a mess and strands were plastered around her face with blood, sweat and tears. The chandelier had inflicted uncountable cuts on her in addition to her numerous bruises from the torture. Her right arm stuck out in an odd angle. Shards of glass and crystal were sticking all over her clothes, hair and skin.

"Hermione..." Ron whispered, sick with fear.

"Ron, catch - and GO!"_ [2]_

Ron whipped his head into the direction of Harry's voice and he saw a wand soaring towards him. As if it was attracted to him by a magical force, it flew directly into his outstretched hand.

He did not hesitate. Pushing his arms under Hermione's shoulders and the hollows of her knees, he picked her up, scrambled to his feet, and turned on the spot.

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_[1] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature series, p. 521 © 2007 J.K. Rowling  
[2] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature series, p. 522 © 2007 J.K. Rowling_


	2. To Safety

Ron focused on Shell Cottage with all the willpower he could muster and held Hermione close to him, as darkness surrounded him and he experienced the horrible feeling of being pressed through a narrow tube that came along with Apparition. Eventually, his feet hit solid ground and the impact made him lose his balance. He stumbled a few steps, desperate not to topple over and to drop Hermione, and finally managed to hold himself steady. He then let his eyes wander over Hermione's body, praying to Merlin that on top of it all, he had not made her splinch. He would never have forgiven himself if she had to suffer even more pain because of him. But much to his relief, no part of her seemed to be missing, and what was more, she was still breathing, though her breaths were alarmingly shallow and uneven.

"RON!" he heard a voice yell and he looked up. Bill was sprinting towards him, with Fleur in his wake, both their wands ignited, and with relief, Ron exhaled a breath which he did not know to have held. He had made it! He had really managed to bring Hermione to Shell Cottage! The familiar little house stood about one hundred yards away from them and with light radiating from all its windows against the starless sky, it looked unreally warm and welcoming.

"Bill! Fleur!" Ron shouted, rushing towards the pair as fast as he dared to with Hermione in his arms. "You've gotta help Hermione, she's really bad!" he added as they met. "Quick!"

"I know," Bill panted, as they led Ron to the cottage. "Luna and Dean have told... C'mon..."

Ron gave a curt nod. So the others had made it out of the cellar just fine. Things had been changing for the better for them once they had entered the cottage - surely it would be the same for Hermione, too, if they could just get inside.

When Ron had suggested back in the cellar that Dobby take all captives to Shell Cottage, he had actually only named the next best place that had come to his mind, but with hindsight, he realized how brilliant his idea was. Shell Cottage was protected by the Order's charms and Bill, as a curse-breaker, possessed the healing skills to fix up Hermione. Shell Cottage was safety. With this thought in mind, Ron accelerated his steps as they drew nearer.

But his impression of unrealness only intensified as the group entered the combined living and dining room through the front door. The house was warm, bright and quiet, apart from the gentle sound of occasional waves crashing on the nearby shore, and a light smell of seaweed lay in the air. It was almost peaceful and after all the grueling hours in the captivity of the Death Eaters, Ron could hardly believe that a place like this could still exist.

Luna and Dean were standing in the doorway that led to the hall. As their gazes fell on Hermione, Dean let out a gasp and cramped his hand on Luna's shoulder, and Luna covered her mouth with both her hands, her eyes becoming even wider than usual. Ron barely took notice of them as he passed by, marching along with Bill in great strides. They both followed suit as Bill guided Ron to the right where a couch in front of the lit fireplace stood covered in a heap of pillows and blankets.

"Put her down here," Bill said. Ron carefully placed Hermione onto the couch and then instantly dropped to his knees while Fleur, Luna and Dean remained standing behind the backrest, deep concern etched on their faces.

"You can fix her, right?" Ron pleaded, looking up at Bill. "Please... You _have to_ fix her!"

"I'll do all I can, Ron, don't worry," Bill replied, though his expression was tense and there was a bit of a tremor in his voice. He walked over to Ron and, frowning, let his eyes wander over Hermione's almost lifeless form.

"Ron, Luna, Dean, I'd like you to leave the room for now," he then ordered, looking up. "I will need to take off Hermione's clothes to properly examine her. You should give her privacy. Fleur," he then added, turning to his wife. "Please get something for Hermione to wear. Something that's as comfortable and soft as possible."

Fleur nodded and followed Luna and Dean out of the room. Ron, on the other hand, was still rooted to the spot.

"You should leave as well, Ron," Bill said softly, when he noticed that.

"I... I can't," Ron chocked, shaking his head. His gaze was still fixed upon Hermione. "I can't. Not after..."

The words got stuck in his throat, but he needed Bill to understand that abandoning Hermione yet _again_ was completely out of question. He had left her already once when she had needed him; now was the time for him to make it up to her. He _had_ to stay with her, needed to be sure that she was okay.

A look of comprehension flashed upon Bill's scarred face.

"All right," he replied. Rising to full height, he turned back to Hermione and took a deep breath, bracing himself.

But all of a sudden, a terrible, pained yell from outside the cottage cut through the air. Ron immediately recognized Harry's voice and panic seized him. What had happened to him? Remembering how Yaxley had almost managed to Apparate along with them so many months ago, he yanked Pettigrew's wand out of his pocket while Bill did the same.

"I think that's Harry!" he heard Dean call. "_It's Harry!_ And there's somebody with him! They... It looks like they're hurt!"

Ron's stomach turned over.

"Let's bid them all welcome," Luna said in the airy voice of hers.

A bustle of voices, footsteps and chair legs scraping across flooring ensued. From his position, Ron was not able to have a full view of the hall, but by the sound of the commotion, somebody opened the back door and people dashed out of the kitchen and into the garden. Ron was rather glad that the others were taking care of this; he did not think that he could bear the sight of yet another wounded person and what was more, he did not want to leave Hermione.

Bill turned towards him.

"You're staying, right?" he asked as though he had been riding on Ron's train of thought all along.

Looking Bill straight into the eyes, Ron nodded with determination. "I've _got_ to."

"Okay," Bill said. "I'll be right back, I promise. But in the mean time-" he indicated at the nearby coffee table on which, among some clutter and washcloths, Ron could see a large brown bottle and a smaller, clear one. "Here's some Skele-Gro and Dittany. Try healing her wounds with the Dittany as best as you can. When she wakes up, give her some of the Skele-Gro. I can see already now that she has a couple of fractures, but the Skele-Gro should take care of the worst. But don't give it to her before she's awake. Understood?"

"Understood," Ron responded. Bill patted his shoulder and then turned to leave the room.

Having reached the doorway, however, he turned around.

"You're gonna be okay?" he asked looking back at Ron.

"Yeah," Ron said gruffly, threw Pettigrew's wand onto the coffee table and grabbed the clear bottle that contained the Dittany. "Go get Harry!"

And with that, the older Weasley nodded and stormed outside as well, leaving Ron alone with Hermione.

Ron remained standing still, his gaze lingering for several moments on the living room door where Bill had just disappeared. He suddenly felt strangely forlorn in the now unnervingly silent room, the sound of his own breathing resounding unnaturally loud in his ears. The presence of the others and their bustle had provided him with some comfort and distraction, but now that they were gone, all his fears and worries suddenly seemed to weigh down on him tenfold, licking inside him like gruesome flames.

He turned to Hermione and looked at her sadly as he crawled closer to the end of the couch where her head rested.

"It's okay," he whispered, half to Hermione and half in order to reassure himself, as he stroked her sticky hair as gently as his shaking fingers allowed him. "Harry's come... We're all safe... I will take care of you now and you'll be fine, too... You'll see..."

He clumsily unstoppered the bottle of Dittany and poured a generous amount of the liquid on one of the washcloths. Then, he bent over Hermione, washcloth in one hand, wand in the other.

"_Tergeo!_"

His charm cleaned Hermione of the blood, dirt and crystal that had covered her and now he had a clearer view of her injuries. Among several minor cuts, she had a long gash on her cheek and another one along her jaw line. Hands still violently trembling, he brushed the hair out of her face and discovered another cut on her forehead and a nasty-looking bruise on her temple. He swallowed and started to run the cloth over her wounds, desperately willing himself to be keep his nerves in check and to be careful and gentle; she appeared so fragile that he was certain that one wrong move of his would break her.

To his own surprise, he felt more at ease with his task the longer he did it. The corners of his mouth twitched when somehow, inadvertently, in the back of his head, he found himself thinking that under any other circumstances, tending to Hermione like this might have been a dream come true. Under any other circumstances, doing this would have made him feel unspeakably awkward as well, but now, awkwardness was one of the few emotions that he did not feel. His worry for Hermione and Harry and his hatred for the Death Eaters were claiming his entire emotional capacity and increasingly more.

"Focus, you stupid git!"

Having finished healing her face, he proceeded with her hands. He grimaced when he saw that they looked much worse for wear; Ron assumed that Hermione must have used her arms to shield her head from further harm. A wave of hatred ripped through him as his thoughts drifted to the bastards who had done this to her while he dabbed the washcloth over her wounds, forced to look at them. He noticed that the last three fingers of her left hand were broken and his face contorted with self-disgust. Healing her external injuries might be all he could do at the moment, but it did not even seem anywhere near enough. If Hermione woke up right now, she would be in tremendous pain due to her fractures and Merlin knew what other injuries he was not even aware of and he was in no position to prevent that. Why the fuck had he never cared to learn healing spells? He could have made Bill teach him that when he had been staying at Shell Cottage last year, instead of spending the whole time pitying himself.

But this was not the time for such pessimistic thoughts. He had to be there for Hermione. He had to be strong. He had to keep a cool head. But his feelings were overwhelming him and he did not know how long he could fight them anymore...

"It's okay, Hermione... I'll get you through this... Everything's gonna be fine..."

If only he could believe his own words. If only he was not such a useless idiot, unable to do anything right, to do anything by himself. He felt so helpless. This was so far out of his grasp and ability, magical or not. And even if he had been competent enough, he strongly doubted that he would have been able to properly help her still. He was shaking. He could not think. His mind was spinning and felt fuzzy, filled with a wild jumble of emotions that was slowly getting full grasp of him as he collapsed onto his knees, his face buried in his arms. Concern for Hermione took turns with anger at himself took turns with relief that they all were safe took turns with worry for Harry took turns with dread of whatever challenges they still had to face took turns with shock at the events of the last couple of hours took turns with blazing hatred of Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters took turns with a general feeling of nausea and fear, all in quick succession, alternating, mixing, swirling in his head, faster and faster, and in between, memories flashed in his mind of the dark clammy cellar, Bellatrix' ruthless voice and Hermione's screams...


	3. Broken And Whole

**Author's Notes:**** Thank you so much for your reviews! Here comes the next chapter. I hope you like it.  
**

**(Eloquent, aren't I? :-))**

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He could not take it any longer. Grabbing onto the couch with one hand and onto the coffee table with the other, he ducked his head and whatever little contents had still been held in his stomach now spilled onto the floor while he was retching and coughing violently.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath when he recovered, eyes streaming. He wept his mouth with his sleeve and vanished the puddle of sick with Pettigrew's wand. "I'm such a bleeding loser. There you've got it."

The sound of the footsteps of people darting into the hall made him look up again and he turned and craned his neck to properly look through the door. First Dean came rushing by and Ron's stomach sank even further if that was possible as he saw that he was carrying Griphook who, like Hermione, was bearing numerous bleeding cuts all over his body. Right at his heels followed Fleur. She also passed by the living room and, judging by the sound of their footsteps, both went up the stairs, apparently to take care of the goblin.

_"Hermione needs help, too!"_ Ron thought with despair. _"I need you guys here! Bill, where are you?"_

More footsteps, but this time, as Ron realized, somebody came down the stairs. A moment later, Fleur rushed into the living room, carrying what looked like a thick white dressing gown of hers. Ron sighed with relief.

"Are you okay?" Fleur asked, squatting down beside him.

"As okay as I can be, I suppose," Ron said with a shrug, trying to think of the next steps. "We need to do something about her bones. She hasn't woken up yet, so I couldn't have given her any Skele-Gro. I started to heal her wounds but only on her face and hands. I... I don't think I can remove any of her clothes by hand with all her fractures... And I don't dare using magic, my hands are shaking too much," he added, his face heating up with shame.

"Eet's all right, Ron," Fleur said, placing a cool hand onto his back, a gesture that Ron did not find quite as soothing as Fleur probably thought it was. "Calm down. You did great. I will take over now."

Fleur drew her wand and stood up. Feeling rather uneasy, Ron furrowed his brow. He had just realized that he did not know how acquainted Fleur was with healing spells.

"_You're_ doing the healing spells?"

"Eez eet okay if I do eet?"

"Err... Where's Bill?"

He could not be certain, but he thought that Fleur's expression darkened for a split second before she replied.

"'E's still outside, discussing with 'Arry," she said in a measured tone that gave Ron a dire sense of foreboding. "But I know 'ow to 'eal as well. You see, at Beauxbatons, we _'ave_ 'ealing classes-" A hint of her old condescending air came through as she said that and Ron could not help flashing a feeble smirk. "So there's no need to worry, Ron. She's een good hands with me, too."

"Then go ahead, please."

"You stay?"

"Yes."

Fleur smiled warmly down at him and patted his shoulder.

"You are a good man, you know zat."

Ron gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Well, yes, you are," Fleur insisted. "But zis eez probably not ze right time to discuss zis. All right. 'Ere goes. _Diffindo!_"

And with that, Hermione's sweater tore apart.

Ron had not been able to look away in time and what he saw made his stomach lurch. Hermione's body, alarmingly haggard from the constant lack of food, was just as badly bruised and cut as her hands had been, with many of the chandelier shards cutting right through her clothes. His eyes fell onto the right side of her ribcage which was covered in numerous large black and violet bruises that looked as if she had been kicked there multiple times.

He wished he had not seen that. He was certain that the image would haunt him for the rest of his life. Just thinking about what Hermione must have gone through sickened him to the core. Before he could take in any more, he screwed up his eyes and averted his face, both respecting her too much to want to see her exposed like that and terrified to see what other injuries she may be bearing, but at the same time refusing to leave her side.

He felt Fleur move closer to him, probably working to remove Hermione's jeans, and he squeezed his eyes shut even more firmly, suddenly glad that it was Fleur, not Bill, who was doing this. A moment later, the scent of Dittany filled the air and a couple of minutes thereafter, Fleur started to mumble obscure-sounding words that Ron could not understand but assumed to be healing spells.

Now Ron heard the sound of yet more footsteps approaching and the musky scent that reached his nostrils told him that Bill had rejoined them. Bill and Fleur exchanged a few hushed words and then, Fleur continued to murmur, now, however, every now and then interrupted by Bill who seemed to perform some healing spells as well, occasionally cursing under his breath.

Ron grew paler and paler the longer this procedure took and when Bill let out a particularly nasty swear, he inadvertently let out a small whimper.

"It's okay, Ron," Bill said in a tone that was apparently meant to be comforting but still came out strained. "Just a few more minutes."

His eyes still squeezed shut, Ron nodded mechanically. After what felt like an eternity to him, the exchange between Bill and Fleur finally turned back into a whispered conversation. He felt Bill step back, then there was a rustle of fabric, and when there was silence, Ron dared to look.

Hermione almost looked like her normal self again. She was dressed in the dressing gown that Fleur had brought with her, and if it had not been for the ashen color of her face and the still uneven rise and fall of her chest, he could have thought that she was just sleeping.

"We healed her as best as we could," Bill explained. "Except for one thing..."

He stepped forward and indicated at an angry red mark on Hermione's throat. It appeared to be the wound that Bellatrix had inflicted on her with her dagger.

"I don't know what that is but nothing that we tried got rid of it," Bill said, looking apologetic. "It seems to be dark magic. Under normal circumstances I'd say see a Healer, but of course, there's no way we can do that these days. She'll probably keep a scar there."

Ron clenched his jaw, giving up the fight against the tears. The thought that Hermione might have to bear a lifelong reminder of her torture was nothing short of unbearable.

"Zis was in 'er sock," Fleur said quietly.

Ron ran his sleeve over his wet eyes and looked up at her. She was holding a shrunken version of Hermione's beaded bag. He widened his eyes, awed by Hermione's presence of mind to keep the bag safe even in the dire situation she had been in.

"Thanks," he whispered, took the bag and pocketed it.

Fleur responded with a faint smile and then turned to her husband.

"Bill, I'm looking after Grip'ook now. I'll take ze medicine..."

"Of course, love," Bill replied. Fleur stuffed the two bottles into her apron and left the room.

When she was gone, Bill turned towards Ron. "You should get cleaned up, too," he said.

Closing his eyes again, Ron shook his head.

"I'm fine," he muttered, feeling that compared to Hermione, he had nothing to complain about.

"You're bleeding."

"It's nothing-"

"Yes, it is," Bill said resolutely and seized Ron by the shoulder. "Come here."

Ron turned on his knees and allowed Bill to grab his hand and pull him into a standing position. It was only then that he realized how filthy he was. His whole front was covered in dirt and smeared with vomit as well as his own and Hermione's blood. He exhibited his cut arms before his brother. With a few flicks of his wand, Bill first siphoned the grime off of Ron and then healed his arms and hands along with - as Ron could tell by the warmth on the respective areas - his black eye and burst lip which were a result of Scabior's and Bellatrix' blows to his face. The sour taste in his mouth disappeared as well.

Ron was looking down in wonder at his now clean sweater when he heard Bill speak again.

"Let's have a seat," Bill suggested, nodding towards the dining table on the other side of the room.

Ron threw a side glance at Hermione. "No way, I'm staying!"

"Well, fine then," Bill said exasperatedly and lowered himself to the floor. "Then let's sit here. We need to talk."

Despite his better judgment, Ron sat down. He had quite the idea where this conversation would lead to and he did not have the least interest in going through this once again. All the adults seemed to want to butt into their mission. His parents... Lupin... Bill and Fleur... And now Bill again. Why couldn't they just accept that they were not allowed to pass on any information?

"Listen Bill," he said briskly. "I think I know what you're on about. But I've already told you, Dumbledore didn't allow us to tell anyone about our task and that hasn't changed."

But Bill completely ignored his account. "You fought against Death Eaters, haven't you?" he asked sharply.

Ron's eyes flickered back to Hermione. Part of him wanted to tell him. It was surely possible without mentioning the Horcruxes. These days, capture and torture of fugitive victims and opponents of Voldemort's regime was almost a daily occurrence, and they could have gotten into the clutches of the Death Eaters by a mere coincidence, just like so many others. But answering Bill's question would mean reliving the events in Malfoy Manor, and he did not think that he could bring himself to do it, even if he had wanted to.

"Give 'im a rest," Fleur's voice came from the doorway, gratefully sparing Ron from having to give an answer.

"But..." Bill began, but Fleur cut him off.

"We 'ave time. You can talk zis over later. Now we 'ave more urgent matters to deal with. Grip'ook woke up."

"How is he?" Bill queried.

"On ze mend," Fleur said. "But 'e insisted in speaking with ze _'master of ze 'ouse'_," she added testily, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, all right," Bill grumbled and climbed to his feet. "But we're not finished yet," he warned Ron before he left the room with Fleur, leaving behind Luna standing in the doorway who had come down along with Fleur and had watched their exchange with a look of mild interest.

"Hello, Ron," she greeted him. "You're feeling better now, are you? I can tell because you regained some color. But seeing that you're still sitting there, I assume that Hermione has not woken up yet."

"No, she hasn't," Ron responded sadly and turned his gaze back to Hermione who still looked as lifeless as ever. But then he remembered something...


	4. Friends

**Author's Notes: Okay, this is a shortish one. I hope you like it, though. In case you're wondering about my updating schedule - I've basically written the whole story already, but I'm posting it to a different site as well and on said site, each new chapter needs to be validated by the staff before it gets published. And as I want the story to be the exact same on both sites, I'm adding new chapters here as soon as they are accepted on the other site. This is currently happening rather quickly, but I'd normally estimate that one chapter per week is somewhat more realistic.**

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR.**

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"Luna?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"Yes?" came the answer.

"What happened to Harry? He stayed behind with Bill and I haven't seen him come in yet."

"Oh, he's in the garden. He's making a last home for the elf," Luna said and walked over to him. "His name was Dobby, wasn't it?"

"_'Last home'...'"Elf'...'Was'..._" Ron stuttered uncomprehendingly. His mouth was feeling dry. "What in the name of Merlin are you... Hang on," he added slowly as realization set in. "You're not... Are you saying that... that Dobby is... _dead_?"

"Yes," Luna said simply and sat next to him. "He's on his last great journey now."

A cold hollow feeling overcame him at these words and ate more and more on his insides as Luna explained to him what had happened to Dobby. Taking Bellatrix' dagger to his chest, the elf had given his life, sacrificed himself, to save them. He looked down at Hermione again and he shuddered to think of how she might react upon hearing this piece of news. Dobby had died. Dobby whom Hermione had always been attached to and supported, who, along with Winky was the reason why she had concerned herself with elf rights and launched SPEW in the first place. She had always despised the thought of elves giving themselves away to serve humans and now Dobby had given his life for their sake...

How much more did she have to suffer?

He felt a second person sit down on his other side and place a hand on his shoulder. At the sound of his voice, he realized that it was Dean.

"How are you, mate?"

Ron shrugged.

"Is she..." Dean indicated at Hermione. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"Fleur healed her bones," Ron said tonelessly.

"Right," Dean said in a flat voice.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Dean muttered awkwardly and clumsily patted Ron's back.

Ron swallowed. "How can you know?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on Hermione, his voice raspy. He agreed that _physically_, Hermione would probably make a full recovery. But what effect tonight's events may have on her _psyche_, he did not want to imagine. Subconsciously, he covered her freshly fixed hand with his and squeezed it lightly.

"Dean is right," Luna said softly. "The worst is over now, and here, it can only get better. Here, she has time to heal and friends by her side. You know, even in my darkest times, I've always found comfort in the knowledge that my friends and family are always with me, in my heart, so I'm never truly alone and knowing this makes everything better."

Ron said nothing. All that he was able to bring himself to was tightening his hold on Hermione's hand, so much that his knuckles turned white.

"You really like her, Ron," Luna noted.

Ron swallowed again, feeling fresh tears pool up in his eyes.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Luna turn towards Dean. She must have given him some sort of signal because the next moment, they both rose to their feet.

"We're going to give you some space," Luna explained. "If you ever need us, let us know. We'll always be there for you."

Not waiting for an answer, they both walked out of the room.

Ron did not know what to think. He had been grateful for their company, but part of him had wanted them to go away, as he had found discussing Hermione's state rather unsettling. Now that they had left, he wished they had not. He could not bear to be alone again. He wished that Hermione woke up. He wondered how long a person can remain unconscious.

He had heard stories of inhabitants of St. Mungo's who, after all sorts of magical accidents, had been spending long times in coma, not even to be aroused by magic. What if Hermione had to face a similar fate? What if she remained like this for years or even for the rest of her life? What if she woke up but would no longer be the Hermione he knew? His lips quivered as his thoughts drifted to Neville's parents whom Bellatrix' torture had driven into insanity. He was certain that she would never be the same again. _Nothing_ would ever be the same. After everything that had happened tonight, that was just unthinkable.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be in her arms, ho hear her voice again, to look into her eyes. Memories of her with him flashed up in his mind, the good, the bad, the mournful, doing schoolwork in the common room, snooping around the school with Harry, relaxing at the Burrow, bickering with each other, and even the times when she had been cranky, smartassing or just plain annoying now seemed to him like jewels to be treasured. He would have sacrificed his entire future for just one moment of that.

He was at a loss of what to do. He wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her, to protect her, but he was afraid that he would hurt her if he did and he compromised by resting his forehead against her arm, careful not to put any weight on her, right next to his hand that was still holding hers.

Being so close to her was painful and comforting at the same time. The tears started to fall and he did nothing to stop them. Letting out all his sorrow, he cried, and even more tears flowed as, in a moment of awe, he realized that even in her unconscious state, Hermione was able to make him feel better. The warmth of her body, the smell of her skin, the light movements of hers as she breathed - all that gradually eased his mind into numbness.

He wanted to stay there forever. Nothing and no-one could ever make him leave her side.

That was when he felt Hermione's hand twitch under his.


	5. Bad News

**Author's Notes: Now might be the time to explain a few things.**

**1. I decided to not "give" Hermione the "Mudblood" scar because a) I don't count the movies as canon, which, however, only means that in my opinion, she does not _have _to have the scar. Just because it wasn't in the books doesn't prove that she couldn't have such a scar, it only shows that Harry never got to see it. The main reason for my decision actually was that b) when Bellatrix tortured Hermione, she was completely beside herself. Her motive was not the torture itself but rather pressing information out of her, quickly. I can't imagine that in her state, Bellatrix would've taken the time to sit down and carve, and I also doubt that in that situation, she would've had the dexterity to carve a word that would actually be readable. Then again, Bellatrix is a total nutcase, so who knows...**

**2. The layout of Shell Cottage gave be quite the headache because rereading DH, I realized that my perception of Shell Cottage did not quite match the book description, so I needed to think that over. I did some research and came across the floor plan suggestion by Scott Keane which seems to mostly comply to the book (I don't seem to be able to post links here, but you can Google it). I used his plan as a reference for my story, but with a few minor changes, the greatest of which being that I merged the sitting/dining/living room into one single room (I think "sitting room" and "living room" are used as synonyms in the book). Another thing, by the way, was Fleur's accent. I found it really easy to write, I enjoyed it a lot and I'm completely sure that I got it all right. Haha. Not. :-)**

**Anyway, here's the chapter now. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Ron's heart instantly skipped a beat at this sensation, but he did not dare to look up. It was probably just some kind of a reflex, a reaction to whatever Hermione was seeing in her unconsciousness, wherever she was, or maybe just his wishful thinking, and if he looked up, he would surely still see her lying there, as lifeless as before. Not wanting to build up any false hope, he inched closer to her, screwing up his eyes even tighter as he nuzzled his face into the sleeve of her gown.

"Ron...?" he suddenly heard Hermione's voice, faint and somewhat croaky.

"_Definitely wishful thinking_," Ron thought to himself and he felt as if he had gone back in time, back to his first stay at Shell Cottage. During those weeks, he had been consumed with guilt and concern for his friends whom he had thought he would never see again. Their faces had been haunting him, even in his sleep, especially Hermione's, as he had remembered how she had had been calling after him, practically begging him to come back, and he had been certain that it would slowly drive him insane. Then, one day, he had heard her say his name, as clearly as if she had been standing right next to him and he had thought that now he had lost his marbles completely. But it had turned out that her voice had come out of the Deluminator which had then allowed him return to his friends... to her.

Almost despite himself, Ron warily lifted his head and turned towards her. And then he let out a loud gasp.

Hermione was awake. She was still very pale and bore dark shadows under her eyes, but she was looking at him and smiling weakly.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hermione..." Ron breathed. His legs feeling wobbly and his heart hammering wildly with joy and relief, he hurriedly crawled over to her, bent over her and hugged her tightly.

"Ow," he heard Hermione whimper and he instantly let go of her.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he quickly said, appalled. "A-are you okay?"

Hermione did not respond right away. Her eyes closed, she slowly let her head sink back to her pillow and kept lying like that for a few moments of contemplation.

"My head hurts," she whispered eventually, opening her eyes. "And my whole body feels kind of sore."

Ron watched her with concern and, feeling protective, gently placed his hand onto her shoulder. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said softly and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "You'll have a bit of rest and before you know it's all gone."

Looking up at him, Hermione nodded, and then her eyes slowly wandered across the room.

"Ron, where are we?" she asked. "How did we get here? Where's Harry?"

Ron felt a little hopeful spark light up in his chest, warming him from the inside, so intensely that he even felt a little grin creep onto his face. The mere fact that Hermione was so inquisitive, just like she had always been, gave him hope that perhaps, Bellatrix' actions had not damaged her as gravely as he had feared.

"Hermione, calm down," he replied with a chuckle. "We're at Shell Cottage. That's Bill's and Fleur's house."

"But how did we get here? Last thing I remember was... was..."

Her voice broke and Ron instantly jumped in and started to explain what had happened to Harry and him after they had been separated, sparing her the need to carry on talking. He told her how they had been forced into the cellar, how they had encountered Ollivander there-

"_Ollivander?_" Hermione whispered squeakily.

"Yeah. They'd kept him in there the entire last year."

"That's horrible. But it's good that we have him back now. What could You-Know-Who have wanted from him?"

"Beats me. But whatever it is, doesn't seem like he's got it."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I guess. He looked pretty bad, but Bill and Fleur are taking care of him. I think he's upstairs. At least that's where they've taken Griphook. Luna was in the cellar, too. She and Dean have just been here with us a couple of minutes ago. I don't know where they've gone."

"And Harry? Where is he?"

"Outside..."

"_Outside?_" Hermione exclaimed, terror written all over her face. "What business does he have there? He must come in, it's not safe out there..."

"Hermione, relax. He _is_ safe. The entire lot's protected by the Order. Nothing can happen to any of us as long as we're here."

"Oh, okay," Hermione said slowly. She fell silent and took a deep breath, then turned to Ron again, her look imploring. "But _why_?"

Ron closed his eyes. He did not want to have to tell Hermione, knowing full well that learning about Dobby's death would anguish her even more, but he knew that when they were reunited with Harry at the latest, the topic would come up anyway, and maybe it would be less painful for her to hear it when only he, Ron, was around, instead of a room full of people.

So he started to explain how with Luna's help, they had managed to rid themselves of their ties and how, suddenly, Dobby had Apparated into their midst and taken Luna, Dean and Ollivander along with him.

"Dobby..." Hermione whispered in awe.

Ron gulped and carried on talking. About their escape from the cellar (Hermione shuddered when he told her about Wormtail's demise). About their battle against the Death Eaters (Ron cringed as Hermione's hand flew to her throat and her eyes widened with terror when she felt Bellatrix' cut). About Dobby rejoining them, defying his former masters and distracting the Death Eaters with the falling chandelier, giving him and Harry the chance to Disapparate to safety. About how - Ron closed his eyes again and his fingers cramped on Hermione's shoulder - Dobby had been stabbed to death by Bellatrix when Harry was about to Disapparate with him.

"...and now Harry's outside digging a grave for him." Ron concluded in a thick voice.

"No..." Hermione whispered. Silent tears were running down her cheeks and her eyes were full of pain. "No... _No..._"

Ron carefully lent closer to her, holding her, and she broke into broke into unrestrained sobs as she firmly clung to him, pressing him to her. He winced slightly as her fingernails dug painfully into his neck and scalp, but he did not retreat, knowing that Hermione was needing him now.

"_It's all Bellatrix' fault_," he grimly thought to himself as he fought back his own tears and white-hot hatred shot through him. Bellatrix had tortured Hermione, she had killed Dobby, she was the reason why Hermione, who normally was so strong, was now reduced to tears, possibly traumatized for life, helpless, desperate...

And he was back in the cellar, Hermione's screams ringing in his ears...

"I'm gonna kill the bitch," Ron whispered to himself, his hatred flaring up.

"Ron-" Hermione gasped, and that was when he realized that he had risen to his feet. Hermione had stopped crying. She was still lying on the couch, her arms raised into the air, reaching out for him, and she looked at him, aghast.

"I'm gonna kill that Lestrange bitch," Ron said, more forcefully, and he feverishly ran his hands through his hair as he started to pace, quicker and quicker. "I swear, I'm gonna follow her wherever she goes for the rest of her sorry existence and snuff her out, and if that's the last thing I'll do!"

"Ron, no," Hermione pleaded, her voice sounding distressed, and Ron could tell that she was on the verge of tears again. "Please don't. Please. I-I understand that you want revenge for w-w-what she did but Dum-Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted us t-to go astray. W-we have a mission to accomplish, Ron, we have to destroy the Horcruxes. Ron, you belong with Harry and me. W-we need you... _I_ need you..."

Guilt washed over Ron as he heard Hermione speak. It was such a miracle that she was back, how could he only do as much as _thinking_ of leaving her now? Leaving her _again_? In an instant, he was kneeling beside her and took her hand again.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his head lowered with shame. "It's just... The thought that she gets away with that..."

Hermione gently squeezed his hand and at that, he looked up at her and he saw a warmth in her eyes, so intense that it sent pleasant shivers down his spine. It gave him comfort and reassurance and yet there was so much tenderness in her gaze that he was instantly overwhelmed by a strong feeling of affection.

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise," he said fiercely, now looking directly at her and moving a little closer. And, feeling rather sheepish, he added, "I know I'll sound like a corny tosser now, but if there's one good thing that came out of being apart from you, it was making me see that I can't be anywhere but with you."

Hermione smiled brightly at him, her eyes brimming with newly formed tears, and he felt his heart melt. She gently covered his hand with her free one and, enclosing it with both her hands, brought it up to her chest.

Next moment, they flinched and broke apart at the sound of footsteps approaching. Ron whirled his head towards the doorway. Fleur was coming in. The familiar bottle of Skele-Gro was sticking out of the pocket of her apron.

"We 'eard voices and zought zat you've woken up, 'Ermione, ma chère," Fleur said. "'Ow do you feel?"

"Everything sort of hurts. But it's gotten better since I woke up," Hermione responded.

"Good," said Fleur. "But you should still 'ave some Skele-Gro. Zat will help against ze pain. You 'ad a lot of broken bones. We'll try to sit you up so you can drink. Ron?"

Ron gave a nod and together with Fleur, he managed to get Hermione into a sitting position. He sat next to her and she instantly slumped against him. Moving thus far seemed to have greatly exhausted her. Her face had lost all color and her forehead glistened with sweat.

Fleur summoned a glass, filled it with Skele-Gro and sat by Hermione's other side. "'Ere, drink zis," she said, holding the glass to Hermione's lips.

Hermione started to down the potion but then spluttered and coughed violently. She instantly doubled over, clutching at her ribs. Sympathetically, Ron rubbed circles on her back. Skele-Gro was one disgusting swill.

"I know. Zis potion tastes terrible," Fleur said soothingly, gently stroking hair out of Hermione's face. "Do you want some chocolate to wash eet down?"

"Thanks, but I don't want to cause you trouble," Hermione responded between heavy breaths and carefully sank back into the couch. Ron placed an arm around her shoulders, holding her steady.

"_Bêtises!_" Fleur replied fiercely and jumped up. "You're not causing any trouble at all, ma chère! I'll be right back."

As Fleur headed for the kitchen, Hermione let out a mirthless chuckle. "God, I'm such a nuisance!"

Ron stared at her incredulously. "You're barking! You're anything but a nuisance, Hermione! We're all just glad to have you back. You getting healthy is all that matters now."

Hermione snorted. "Some of the others need more attention than I do, Ron. Ollivander... D-Dobby..."

"But that doesn't make you any less important," Ron insisted, his thump rubbing her shoulder. "You're allowed to have a break, too, for a change, you know."

"Hermione!"

Ron lifted his head. There was Dean, followed by Fleur who was holding a steaming mug in her hands. Ron noted that he was wearing his jacket again which struck him as strange.

"Fleur told me that you woke up," Dean said happily and briefly rubbed her arm. "How are you?"

"I'm getting better, thanks for asking. How about you?"

"I'm good," Dean said and shrugged dismissively. "But I was fine all along. Anyway, it's great that you made it. I sort of expected the worst. You were really brave back at - you know..."

Ron felt that now a change of topic was in order. "Were you going out?" he asked, indicating at Dean's jacket.

"Yeah, I'm helping Harry bury the elf," Dean said and after a moment of consideration, he added, "Wanna join?"

Ron looked at Hermione questioningly and was alarmed to see her try and struggle to turn in her seat to face him directly, her eyes blazing with a fervor that he had seen in them only once before - after his return on Boxing Day.

"Ron," she said breathlessly and gripped his wrist. "You've got to do that. We owe Dobby... He deserves a proper b-burial... I wish I could help as well, but..." She helplessly gesticulated before herself. "Please do it on my behalf."

"But..." Ron started, placing a hand on her arm.

"I'll be fine. Fleur's with me," Hermione reassured him.

Ron looked up at Fleur who nodded affirmatively.

"Are you sure?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes. Now _go_!"

Ron nodded and got to his feet. As he crossed the room with Dean, he heard Hermione speak to Fleur. "I want to be there when he's - you know - laid to rest."

He turned his head before he walked around the corner and smiled at Hermione, who returned his smile and lightly raised her hand for a wave while Fleur sat down and handed her the mug of chocolate.

* * *

_bêtises (fr.) - nonsense_


	6. His Last Home

**Author's Notes: Thanks everybody for faving, following and reviewing! This really means a lot!**

* * *

Both boys walked down the few stone stairs leading from the back door and onto the lawn behind Shell Cottage. It was only then that Ron realized how cool and salty the air was. The sky had become somewhat lighter. From afar, he could hear the faint sound of birds chirping.

"Luna's not coming?" Ron asked Dean as they drew spades out of a little shack near the cottage in which Bill and Fleur kept their gardening tools.

"No, she's with Bill," Dean said and continued to walk. "He's helping her locate her dad. Word is that their house was destroyed in a Death Eater attack." He hesitated for a moment and then added, frowning slightly. "You guys are said to be involved, too."

Ron felt heat on his ears and around his neck, but the sight of Harry at the far end of the garden instantly swept Xenophilius Lovegood off both boys' minds.

When they approached him, Harry was standing in a knee-deep hole, wide enough for a house elf to lie in. He looked like his normal self again. Next to the hole lay a bundle that Ron recognized as Dobby wrapped into Harry's jacket. Both boys jumped into the hole and helped Harry dig.

Even with their combined efforts, it was drudgery. The ground was solid and dry and they made only slow progress. This suited Ron rather well; to him, it was a welcomed opportunity to let off steam and to distract himself from the past few hours and his worry about Hermione. Physically exhausting himself and not having to think was a relief and he felt himself slowly calm down.

Dawn had already broken when they finally considered the hole deep enough. Harry climbed out, followed by Ron and Dean, and wrapped Dobby more tightly into his jacket. As he did that, Ron briefly saw a flash of the blue and white of Dobby's sock between the jacket fabric. With a hollow feeling in his stomach, he remembered Dobby's liking of socks but all the same, he could not help but smile fondly as he recalled how happy the elf had been when Harry and him had both given him their socks for Christmas several years ago. With this memory in mind, Ron took off the socks he was wearing and gently pulled them over Dobby's feet. It was a ridiculous sort of reward for everything he had done tonight, Ron thought, but he knew that, had he survived, the elf would have been delighted at this gesture and in an attempt to emphasize his gratefulness, he put his shoes on him as well.

"You're giving him clothes?" Dean asked, furrowing his brow. "Wouldn't that - y'know - somehow insult him, setting him free?"

"Dobby's different," Ron responded. "He wanted to be free... Actually, he _was_ free... _And_ proud if it... He would've liked this."

"Oh," Dean said. "What other clothes did he like?"

"Hats," Ron said immediately, unable to suppress a little chuckle. "Remember, Harry, how he collected all those hats that Hermione had knitted and wore them all - at once?"

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning weakly. "And that tea cozy of his."

Ron started to grin as well, but Dean only looked more confused. "Hermione's _knitted hats_?"

"Long story," Harry said wearily.

Dean just shrugged. "Well, then I guess he should have this," he muttered. He drew a beanie out of his jacket and placed it onto Dobby's head.

"That's right," Ron said with grim pride as he looked over the mass of clothes the elf was now wearing. "Now he truly is a free elf."

He could not help thinking that somehow, Hermione had been right with SPEW all along. House-elves, as he now painfully realized, were not only the servants that nicely provided them with food and cleaned after them. No, they were living, breathing creatures with a will of their own and a sort of magic that lay beyond anything that wizards were capable of. He would have to tell her that later, even if it meant that he would have to endure a plethora of _I-told-you-so_s. Right now, that seemed like a more than acceptable price.

"We should close his eyes," _[1]_ he suddenly heard Luna's voice somewhere behind him and then she came into sight, Bill and Fleur in her wake.

He felt something brush against his arm and as he looked, he saw that Hermione had stepped to his side. She looked even paler than before and she was swaying slightly. Ron put his arm around her shoulders and she heavily leant against him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"You've given him your shoes," she whispered to Ron as they watched Luna bend over Dobby and gently move down the elf's eyelids.

"Well, yeah," Ron muttered sheepishly and she squeezed him lightly in response. He could not help but smile.

Their expressions were somber when Harry carefully laid Dobby into the hole and even more so when Luna spoke her eulogy. When she was done, she turned towards Ron with an eerily knowing look in her eyes, apparently expecting him to continue, and Ron, who had not been prepared for this, instantly blushed, feeling like a bunny rabbit facing the headlights of the Muggle car that was about to run over him.

There was so much that he had to say to the little elf. If it had not been for him, Harry would not have made it through the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. The DA would not have had their practice room. They would not have been prepared for the battle against the Death Eaters at the end of their last term. Hermione would not be standing here beside him. They would still be locked in the Malfoys' cellar and Hermione would be dead, ripped apart and gorged by Greyback.

All these thoughts wanted out at the same time, but were ultimately interfering with each other. "Yeah... thanks, Dobby," _[2]_ was all that he could choke up, as he subconsciously held Hermione closer to himself, his stomach convulsing with his suppressed urge to let out a sob. He knew that his words would never do his feelings justice, but he had wholeheartedly meant them.

And soon enough, the little ceremony was over and they all made to walk back to the cottage. Everyone but Harry who asked rather uncertainly if they would mind if he stayed back for some more time.

Ron looked down at Hermione who returned him a glance that clearly said that she wished to go back inside. He shook his head no at Harry and sympathetically patted his back as they slowly followed the others to the cottage, arms still around each other.

"I can't believe that he's gone," Hermione sniffled after a while. "It's feels so... surreal."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "But he died a hero."

Hermione nodded but even though he knew that his words had given her a little comfort, he wished that he could do something to take away her pain completely. This seemed to be one of those subjects that only time could fix, if anything, but this thought only added to his helplessness.

* * *

[1] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature series, p. 528 © 2007 J.K. Rowling  
[2] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature series, p. 529 © 2007 J.K. Rowling


	7. Resistance

**Author's Notes****: Here's another shortish chapter. All upcoming chapters will be longer than this, though.**

**_PhoenixTailAndHolly_****: Yes, I will definitely continue the story. It is already written completely and, not counting this one, there are still three chapters to follow. The way things look right now, there's a good chance that the story will be completed by the end of the month. I'm elaborating on my updating schedule in the A/N in chapter 4.**

**_rhmac12_****: Thanks for all your comments. Yes, I totally agree with you in everything you said. I also think that going on without Hermione would've been really hard if not impossible for Ron and if she had died at Malfoy Manor, I suppose he would either be out for revenge or lose a significant portion of his will to live and act reckless in the upcoming battles. I'd rather not think about that. I'm so glad at the end of the day, both made it through everything fine.**

* * *

As they drew nearer to the cottage, it became apparent that Hermione had difficulty walking. She was somewhat staggering and her steps became increasingly smaller and her breaths got more and more labored. Gradually, they fell back behind the others. Ron gave her a concerned look.

"I can carry you if it's too exhausting," he offered in a low voice. "It's not a big deal."

Hermione immediately shook her head and then screwed up her eyes as it seemingly made her feel dizzy. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own," she said with light indignation to continue in a softer voice, "But thanks."

Ron smirked but knew better than to contradict, being aware that Hermione was trying to reclaim some of the dignity that Bellatrix had taken from her.

"All right, but you say something when you need help, okay?" Ron said sternly. "You know I'm always there for you when you need me, and I'm not just saying that."

Hermione gave him a feeble smile. "Thanks, Ron," she said. "It means a lot."

Ron tightened his hold on her and they kept on walking, slowly but steadily. When they entered the living room, the others were already gathered there, Luna and Dean on the further of the two love seats that flanked the narrow sides of the coffee table, Bill and Fleur on the nearer one. Halfway across the room, Hermione shook Ron's arm off of her, stumbled forward a few steps and then collapsed onto the couch that had been freed from the pillows and blankets, breathing heavily. Thinking that Hermione breaking away from him meant that he had done something wrong, Ron only hesitantly sat beside her but his worries were instantly removed when she rested her head on his shoulder.

His gaze wandered from Bill and Fleur next to him over to Luna and Dean who were sitting close to each other, speaking in low voices. They appeared rather intimate with each other, Ron thought, just to inwardly slap himself right thereafter. Was he now losing his mind, seeing happy couples everywhere?

The sound of Bill's voice brought Ron back to the here and now.

"Ron, can we talk now?"

Ron groaned inwardly. Why couldn't he just let the matter rest?

"I've already told you-"

"I need more details, Ron," Bill demanded, making with notable effort to not lose his temper. "It's obvious that you were involved in a battle and at least some of you were in captivation at some point-"

"Well, what did Luna and Dean tell you?" Ron cut him off angrily. He saw them shrink and throw nervous glances at him.

"Only that Dobby would bring the three of you and that Hermione would probably be badly hurt."

Ron sighed, relieved that the pair of them had not said more, and he cast a look at them that, so he hoped, told them not to reveal anything else. Hermione, on the other hand, started to tremble and grabbed the front of his sweater in her fist. It made him wish all the more that Bill would finally shut up.

"Well, yes, and that's what happened, isn't it?" he retorted heatedly. "And as for the rest, you've already drawn your own conclusions, haven't you? So maybe we did battle, maybe we didn't. Is that really so important? We're here now, and we're on the mend thanks to you. That's all that matters!"

"You said it yourself, Ron, you're on the mend _thanks to us_," Bill said, bristling. He rose to his feet and started to pace up and down in front of the fireplace, gesticulating with his hands. "You come here out of the blue in the middle of the effing night, all injured or... _worse_... and expect us to help you-"

"Bill!" Fleur snapped furiously before Ron had a chance to have a go at his brother himself, his urge to jump off his seat curbed solely by the fact that Hermione was still leaning against him.

Realizing that he had gone too far, Bill took a calming breath, sat back down and then continued, more contained. "I'm not saying that you're not welcome here or that we minded taking care of you. I'm sorry if I made it sound like that. On the contrary, we're glad to have you here and to know that you're safe, and of course, you're all free to stay here as long as you wish. But don't you think that we somehow have a right to know what's going on?"

"Well, yeah," Ron said, feeling guilty. "You've been great and we're really, really grateful that you're having us. I guess we would've been screwed if it hadn't been for you, so thanks, but..." He looked down at Hermione who did not show the slightest inclination to join in their conversation. He was responsible now, and with newly built determination, he continued. "...but like I said, I can't tell you anything. Not before I discussed with Hermione and Harry how much we can let on, but even afterwards, I wouldn't keep my hopes too high up if I were you. A secret mission is a secret mission, and that also holds true for family. Sorry."

"Well, all right," Bill said in a tone that told Ron clearly that it was, in fact, _not_ all right. "Then at least tell me one thing: Did you meet any Death Eaters? Snatchers? Anyone who knows who you are?"

Ron furrowed his brow, puzzled. "Why-"

"You're not supposed to be seen..." he heard Hermione mutter. "Spattergroit... You're supposed to be sick with Spattergroit..."

"Exactly," Bill chimed in. "You're supposed to lie in bed with Spattergroit! If any of You-Know-Who's followers recognized you, Ron, they'll know that the family has been lying to the Ministry all along where you were concerned. And from there, it'll be only a small step for them to figure that we're supporting Harry, especially if you were seen _with_ Harry. Understand what that means? They'll probably try to get their hands on the family now to press information out of them or to use them as a bait for you."

Ron's face lost all color as shock overcame him. He had not thought about that. His parents... Ginny... Fred and George... They were all in danger now, just because of him. He turned away from Bill, certain that his look had just said it all, and his worry was confirmed when Bill spoke again.

"I thought as much," he said quietly, rubbing his chin. "I had that feeling right after Dobby brought Luna, Dean and Ollivander, and I met some precautions, just in case..."

Bill started to explain how he had arranged for the family to be evacuated from the Burrow but then abruptly stopped and turned towards the door. With a feeling of dread, Ron followed his gaze and immediately let out a sigh of relief. Harry was standing in the doorway, looking somewhat confused.


	8. The Flawed Plan

"What the hell was _that_ about?" Ron muttered, once Harry had walked out of the hall for a wash as he had said. He had just told them all in an oddly calm voice that he wished to talk to Griphook and Ollivander. Ron found this behavior of his somewhat disturbing. Crazily hoping that any of them may have a sudden epiphany moment and the kindliness to share it with him, he looked around at the others but all he got as a response was collective shrugging.

"Ron, will you _please_ explain that to me?" Bill asked with unveiled agitation, now leaning forward on his knees and staring directly at his brother. "Is that part of your _secret mission_ as well? Neither Griphook nor Ollivander are in any state to... to give you information or whatever it is you want from them."

Through all his confusion, anger rose inside Ron. He could not believe that Bill had the nerve to try and question him about their mission _again_. But he would not have any of that.

"I've already told you that I can't speak about it and that's my final word on the matter," he said firmly.

"Ron, I understand that you're not allowed to talk about it, but this is madness. You're-"

"Bill," Fleur interrupted her husband sharply standing up, and Ron exhaled in relief. "If 'Arry wants to see Grip'ook and Ollivander, we should prepare ze two of them..."

"Alright, I'm coming with you, love," Bill said in a defeated tone and threw a last suspicious glance at Ron before he followed Fleur upstairs.

"Whoa, so is it true?" Dean asked in awe once Bill and Fleur were out of earshot. "You really _are_ on a mission for Dumbledore? You've got a plan to destroy You-Know-Who?"

"See, I can't talk about this with my own _brother_, so I certainly can't tell _you_," Ron snapped, his voice more aggressive than he had intended. As to be expected, Dean was in a bit of a huff.

"Oh, right. But I thought that _maybe_ we could help you. Just because Harry's the _Chosen One_ doesn't mean that..." He paused for a moment, apparently at a loss for words. "Just saying," he added with a shrug and then leant forward. Ron followed him with his eyes, half expecting him to draw a wand, but then he saw that he was reaching over to a plate of sandwiches that somebody had placed onto the coffee table during his absence. Dean grabbed a sandwich and started to munch on it more forcefully than was necessary.

Though not really wanting any, Ron mechanically helped himself to a sandwich, too. He had already lifted it to his mouth when he remembered.

"Oh, right."

"Want some?" he quietly asked Hermione and held the sandwich in front of her.

"Thanks," she whispered and tore off a chunk of it.

"Well, you can have the whole thing, you know," Ron chuckled but Hermione shook her head.

"Thanks," she repeated. "But I don't think I can..."

Ron understood what she meant and he felt it himself as he took a bite. The sandwich was delicious but he thought that he could have been just as well chewing on a piece of cardboard. At least it allayed his hunger.

They spent the next couple of minutes in silence, neither of them saying a word as they all were absorbed in their own thoughts. Ron was staring into the vividly crackling fire without really seeing. The unreal feeling he had about being at Shell Cottage was slowly abating and the realization sunk in that they all were indeed safe here in the small warm cozy room, but Harry's demeanor was still bothering him. What in the name of Merlin was he up to? Did he know something that he, Ron, did not? He was acting so strange, so secretively. In fact, that's what he had been like ever since Xenophilius Lovegood had told them about the Deathly Hallows. Fascinating as they were, Harry's strange obsession with them had worried Ron. It seemed as if it had changed something in him, as though he was possessed by some obscure force. He hoped that Harry still knew what he was doing, that he was still following Dumbledore's mission of finding and destroying the Horcruxes instead of attempting some weird solo run after the Hallows, but the fact that he appeared to wish to talk to Griphook and Ollivander on his own, without even discussing his plan with Hermione and him first, put a palpable damper on him. Ron was not sure if he still had the strength to put up with something like that. The past couple of hours seemed to have aged him at least a hundred years. He glanced down at Hermione who looked tense and was biting her lip as if in deep concentration. He wished that he could discuss his concerns with her but that was out of the question with Luna and Dean sitting barely three feet away from them.

But as if on cue, he could hear voices from the hall. They were speaking quickly and agitatedly, so he could not make out what exactly they were saying, but one thing, he was sure about...

"Is that Harry?" Hermione asked, lifting her head.

Ron nodded and quietly slid off the couch, casting a stay-where-you-are-this-is-none-of-your-business glare at Luna and Dean. He tiptoed around the love seat and towards the door, wanting to know what was going on.

From the corner of his eye, he saw that Hermione had risen to her feet as well.

"Are you okay? Can you walk?" he asked with concern and extended his hand. She took it and let him guide her to the doorway where they remained standing and listened.

What Ron heard only confirmed his fears. Harry was still determined to follow his plan all by himself, as though he and Hermione did not even exist anymore. He was already on his way up the stairs to Griphook's room-

"I need you two, as well!" _[1]_ Harry abruptly called, stopping dead in his tracks and turning his head towards the living room door.

Ron gave a start and so did Hermione as both had not expected to be seen from where Harry was. Nevertheless, Ron could not help feeling immensely relieved at being addressed so directly by him. The mere fact that he wanted them with him and that he was apparently going to let them in on his plan mildened his concern. Together with Hermione, he stepped into the hall, his arm around her shoulders.

* * *

Two hours and a conversation with Griphook and Ollivander, respectively, later found the trio in the garden in front of the cottage. Ron felt positively sick to his stomach as he remembered these talks and their implications.

Not only had it become evident that Harry was suspecting another Horcrux down in Bellatrix' Gringotts vault - which meant that the three of them would have to break into the wizarding bank, a feat that only one person had ever survived to tell about, and that was none other than Voldemort himself -, they had also learned that Voldemort had extorted from Ollivander details about the Elder Wand, which, to Hermione's appall, truly existed and had once been in the possession of Grindelwald. Which, as Harry had told them minutes ago, meant that Dumbledore must have been the last master of the Wand as he was the one who had defeated Grindelwald.

Ron was overcome by a feeling of cold dread as he had put the pieces together. Voldemort knew about Grindelwald's possession of the Elder Wand and the circumstances of Grindelwald's downfall were common knowledge, so Voldemort had everything he needed to lay his hands on a weapon that was unbeatable! Ron could have kicked himself for letting Harry waste time and speak with Griphook first. He, Ron, had not understood - as usual, he had been too dumb. Too dumb to see the big picture. They had to stop Voldemort from obtaining Elder Wand! The thought of Voldemort with an unbeatable wand was nothing short of nauseating. They were all as good as doomed now.

But in his unwavering - or perhaps simply blind - faith in Dumbledore, Harry practically refused to listen as he brought up this train of thought.

"I'm not supposed to... I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes..." _[2]_ he growled through gritted teeth, sunken to his knees, and Ron saw it as nothing but a display of sheer stubbornness.

Harry now doubled over, his forehead on his knees, his fingers clawing his hair. Ron instantly realized that he had now fully delved into Voldemort's mind. He had seen it often enough.

His body shaking and twitching, Harry was lowly muttering to himself and Ron and Hermione had to bend over him to understand his words.

"...at Hogwarts... Snape..."

"Snape," Ron said sharply, clenching his fists with suppressed fury. Hermione gently placed a hand on his forearm and, slightly becalmed, he continued to listen.

"...tomb... opens... tomb..."

Ron's stomach turned over. He felt like throwing up again, right there and then.

"...taking... he's taking the wand..."

Ron swallowed a mouthful of sick. He threw a sideways glance at Hermione. It was undeniable that the conversations with Griphook and Ollivander had clearly given her a flush of energy, but she had remained uncharacteristically quiet during his argument with Harry and now her face was paler than ever. She was tense, her lower lip was trembling.

With a shuddering gasp, Harry pulled his mind out of Voldemort's, his hands and knees in the dewy grass as he breathed heavily, his eyes wide open and his forehead running with sweat.

"You-Know-Who... has the Elder Wand..." he panted.

"We know, mate," Ron said crossly as both he and Hermione grabbed him by the arms and helped him up.

"So that's it, isn't it?" he said, still furious, once Harry had risen to full height. "We've lost the Elder Wand. You-Know-Who has the _un-beat-able_ wand now, Harry! Happy now? Is this what Dumbledore wanted, giving him a wand that can't be defeated? How in the name of Merlin are we supposed to fight that? Dumbledore hasn't given you a plan for _that_, now, too, has he?"

"I don't know," Harry mumbled, rubbing his scar.

"How could Dumbledore have _wanted_ that? Can you tell me that?"

"I don't know," Harry repeated and lifted his head. He looked confused and appalled at what he had done - or rather _not_ done. "I don't know what this leads to. But Dumbledore would've told me about the Hallows if he'd thought that's the way to defeat him, right? He knew about the Hallows, knew about their power! He could've told me but all he ever mentioned were the Horcruxes!"

"But-"

"I can't see right now what we're supposed to do about that,' Harry said, erratically running his hands through his hair and starting to pace. 'But something tells me that this was the right decision. I just - _feel_ it... This is how it's supposed to be..."

"Then he's gotten bloody mad," Ron said defiantly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "He couldn't possibly want a practically invincible villain to get an invincible wand and expect three bloody teenagers to do him in, Chosen One or not."

But Harry completely ignored him, silently continuing his pace for a few more minutes in which, panic and impatience rising inside him, Ron came to realize the irony of their situation. Before tonight, Harry's mind had been so preoccupied with the Hallows that he would barely listen to him and Hermione anymore when they wanted him to focus on the Horcruxes, and now it was the other way round. It was a grotesque sort of role reversal. Eventually, Harry came to a halt, looking up at Ron and Hermione and taking a deep breath.

"See, I don't know what this all means," he said. "It feels so weird to me, too, not intervening when we have the chance. But somehow... I just feel that this is how it should be... how it's meant to be..."

Ron opened his mouth for a retort but Harry continued to speak before he could make a sound.

"I can't possibly sleep now," he said, looking up into the rosy sky. "I... I don't know, I... I think I need to be alone now... I need to think."

He stepped towards Hermione and placed his hands onto her shoulders.

"You should have some rest now, Hermione," he said warmly. "You've been through a lot tonight."

Hermione nodded slowly and Harry nodded back.

He let go off Hermione and turned around, giving Ron a curt nod as well. Ron opened his mouth to say something but he did not know what and closed it again. Harry walked around the cottage, his forehead in his palms.

Ron followed him with his eyes, gulping as he disappeared behind the corner. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Even with the prospect of getting another Horcrux to destroy, their situation was now more hopeless than ever.

"Well, let's go inside then," he said resignedly, his gaze still fixed at the corner.

He drew a deep breath and, his hands still buried in his pockets, slowly shuffled towards the cottage, up the stairs and into the hall, subliminally registering the sound of Hermione's footsteps behind him.

"What d'you reckon?" he asked Hermione without looking at her, completely wrapped up in his thoughts. "This is bloody damn madness, I tell ya! How could Dumbledore have wanted that? How could anyone-"

Ron stopped dead in his tracks as the sound of Hermione's footsteps was replaced by a dull thud.

"Hermione?" he said tentatively and turned around.

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature series, p. 533 © 2007 J.K. Rowling  
[2] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Signature series, p. 550 © 2007 J.K. Rowling_


	9. Confessions

**Author's Notes****: And now the cliffy gets resolved :-) Thanks for R&R!**

* * *

Hermione was standing with her back leant against the wall, her eyes closed, and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs and her face on her knees, and Ron understood. She had tried to keep it together for Harry, for Dobby, for Griphook, for Ollivander, for the sake of their mission, but now that this was no longer needed, all self-protection was falling off her.

"Hermione!" Ron called again, louder this time and with two large strides, he was by her side. He sat down beside her and wrapped his arms around her. Her body was now shaking uncontrollably with sobs.

Hermione shifted her body and, burying her face into his shoulder, clung to him as if he was the only thing that kept her from drowning.

"Shh, it's okay, Hermione, it's okay, it's all over now," Ron whispered to her, gently stroking her head. Silent tears were running down his own cheeks, too, and they were tears of sympathy, relief and fear altogether. He hoped that Hermione would not notice; he wanted to be strong for both of them. But at the same time, he knew that it was okay to cry, he did not have to be ashamed in front of her. Shame was now an entity of no relevance. He tightened his embrace and buried his face deep into Hermione's hair, closing his eyes and taking in her scent. He was so glad that she was here in his arms now, to know that she was safe, and he swore to himself that he would never again allow anything to happen to her.

They stayed like this for a long time; even long after Hermione had calmed down, neither let go of the other. As he was sitting there, embracing Hermione, Ron felt complete like never before, amazed by the way she was giving him warmth and hope and comfort just by being there and holding him and he hoped with all his heart that he was making her feel the same.

After what felt like an eternity and yet too short, Hermione sniffled. She turned her head to the side and dried her eyes with her sleeve. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," Ron said warmly. "You have every right to feel that way."

"It's just..." Hermione said in an uncharacteristically small voice, putting her arm around Ron again. "I'm scared."

"Me, too," Ron admitted. "I guess most people are, given all the mad things that are happening now. It's the normal thing to feel unless you're a complete nutcase, Hermione. You have no reason to feel bad about that."

"It's not that I don't have faith in Harry's abilities or Dumbledore's judgment," Hermione mused. "I know you see it differently but I'm certain that in the end, it'll all make sense somehow, though at present I can't see how."

"Are you sure?" Ron voiced his doubts again. "Couldn't it be that Dumbledore simply had an off moment there?"

"That'd be a long moment for sure. Ron, Dumbledore had known about the Hallows almost his whole life and Merlin knows how long he'd suspected You-Know-Who to use the Horcruxes. And he was the most brilliant wizard of all times as well. I can't imagine that he'd mess up so badly. And remember, Dumbledore's always been able to fix anything. No matter how strange his plans seemed at first, in the end it always worked out fine."

Ron looked at her, somewhat calmed but yet not fully convinced. But before he could say anything, Hermione had buried her face into his shoulder again.

"It's just the thought that we'll have to face _him_ in the end that's so scary," she mumbled. "And who knows how long we still have to be on the run like this till we get there. Ron, I want nothing more than this war to be over and us getting through it safe and sound."

"Me, too," Ron said and sighed. "But we're the only ones who can end it, so... we have to pull this through now, otherwise none of us will ever be safe. Pull this through, take You-Know-Who down, and kick as many Death Eater asses as we can on our way there, and then we can have our happily ever after!"

Hermione chuckled dryly and Ron was glad that his little bit of humor had this effect on her. "Sounds like a plan," she said. "But let's face it. People are dying. And for all we know, we could be next, we're so far in the thick of it." She swallowed and looked up at Ron. "Ron, when... when they d-dragged me to the salon, I thought that was it. I thought I'd never see you again."

"I know," Ron said darkly, a large lump forming in his throat. "I felt the same."

"You told her to take you in my stead."

"Yes, I did."

Hermione settled back against his shoulder and shook her head. One hand firmly pressing his shoulder to her cheek, she started to rub the entire length of his back with the other. There was nothing gentle about it; Ron sensed that she did it to assure herself, to feel, that he was there and whole, and he ran his hand through her hair to let her know that he was.

"Don't ever do that again," she finally said, sniffling. "I'm not worth it."

Ron snorted. "You can't seriously expect me to just sit back and watch or something," he said, trying to maintain a soft voice. He only wanted to bring his point across, not to initiate a row. "I don't think I could ever live with myself if something happened to you and I hadn't tried all I could to prevent it. And of course you're worth it," he replied emphatically.

_"You're worth everything,"_ he added in his thoughts.

Hermione shook her head again.

"No, Ron, please, I don't know what I'd do if I... lost you..." She closed her eyes, her chest heaving, and then continued. "I... I was thinking... What if either of us died and the last thing I did with you was being nasty and shutting you out? What if I died and we never fully made up and you'd forever think I hated you?"

"Well, I can't say I _didn't_ deserve you hating me-" Ron began but Hermione cut him off by jerking up her head and grabbing him by the shoulders.

"No, please don't say that!" she squeaked.

"I _left_ you last year," he said with emphasis. "And I can't say how much I regret that. I know I let you down and hurt you two a lot when I did."

"You wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for the Horcrux. I knew that. You even said yourself that you would've come back when I called for you but just couldn't because of the Snatchers. I knew all that and I still shut you out. I'm a terrible person."

"No, you're not. I'm certainly not better at any rate. I've hurt you a bloody lot of other times during all those past years, I guess abandoning you just capped it all off nicely." He sighed again and looked down at her. "I'm really sorry for being such an arse. If I could take it all back, I would. I really would."

"It's not like I've been nothing but nice to you myself, Ron," Hermione admitted. "I've sometimes treated you downright awfully. But, Ron... Please don't ever think I'd hate you because I... don't. I don't hate you. I couldn't. I... I..." she stammered, blushing heavily. "I... really... I... _really don't hate you_."

For a brief moment, something that seemed to Ron like deep embarrassment flashed up in her eyes but before he could even start to make any sense out of it, she had lowered her head, resting it on his shoulder again and hugged him more tightly to herself.

"I heard you call for me," she said quietly, her face buried into his shoulder. "When B-Bellatrix tortured me. I heard you call my name. That was what kept me sane. That was the thing that I was holding on to, that kept me fighting."

For a moment, he was lost for words. Back in the cellar, he had felt desperate and terrified like never before in his whole life. The thought that he could give comfort to somebody while he was in such a state was downright ridiculous. And yet it had happened, and not only that, no, that somebody had been the strongest and most amazing person he knew. He wished she knew how much that meant to him, how much _she_ meant to him.

"I'll always be with you, Hermione," he said with vigor when he regained his composure. "I've told you that before, I'm never going to leave you again. As long as you want me there, I'll be there for you. I promise."

"You can't promise that, Ron," Hermione replied sadly. He knew what she was hinting at and, much to his chagrin, he had to admit that she had a point. Today's events were a perfect proof for that.

"But I'll try," Ron said stubbornly. "I'm never going to let you down again. I'll do everything in my power to keep you save... Both you and Harry," he added as a precaution. "This I _can_ promise you."

She looked up at him with red puffy eyes, her expression clearly betraying that she could not quite believe him but desperately wanted to. At this moment, she looked so small, so vulnerable, and yet so very beautiful. An intense surge of affection swept through Ron; he wanted to lean in and kiss her so badly, to let her know how much he loved her, how amazing she was, but he held it back. It broke his heart but he knew that this was not the right moment. He did not want her to think that he was taking advantage of her current state. If it happened, if it _ever_ happened, he wanted it to be right, because they _both_ wanted it, and with no fear, guilt or grief hanging over them.

He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and, putting his arm around her shoulder, hugged her tightly back to himself and rested his head against the side of hers.

"I'm just so glad that you're alive," he whispered.

"I'm glad you're alive, too."

They silently stayed in each other's embrace for some more time, relishing each other's presence, giving to and drawing from each other strength and comfort. As he closed his eyes, scenes of the past events replayed in Ron's mind once again - Hermione screaming, Bellatrix raging, Bellatrix prodding her dagger into Hermione's throat, Hermione covered in blood - but this time, it all seemed very far away, as though he was perceiving everything through a thick wall of rippled glass, and then it faded away completely.


	10. Coming to Rest

**Author's notes:**** And thus the story ends. I hope you liked it. I do have another thing or two up in my sleeve, though, so watch out!**

**_rhmac12_****: I agree that the torture very likely had more of an impact on Hermione than the book let show. I think she tried to be strong for Harry and their mission. Also agree that Hermione had every right to be mad at Ron for walking out on both her and Harry but I suppose what happened at Malfoy Manor and the prospect of forever losing each other (again) put things into perspective for her - hence why I made her forgive him at this point. I do believe, though, that the abandonment might have some long-term effects on both of them, but that would be a different story (not one that I'm planning to write in the nearer future, though).  
**

* * *

Eventually, Ron felt Hermione lose her body tension; she became heavy in his arms.

"Tired?" he whispered into her hair.

"Hmm..."

"Okay, then let's get out of here. Can think of nicer places to sleep than this bloody corridor where people walk through and all."

Ron scrambled to his feet and, taking hold of both her hands, helped Hermione stand up as well, thinking. Shell Cottage had three bedrooms, two of which were probably still occupied by Griphook and Ollivander respectively, and Bill and Fleur might claim the third room for themselves once they would call it a day. That left the living room and this was where Ron led Hermione to.

Despite the rising sun outside, the room appeared much darker than before as the formerly merrily burning fire was now dying. Ron drew the beaded bag out of his pocket, summoned three sleeping bags and unfurled them near the fireplace, next to Luna and Dean who were already fast asleep. A surge of affection for them overcame him when he realized that they had probably saved the couch and love seats for Harry and them.

Hermione had started to crawl into her sleeping bag, when Ron remembered something.

"Hang on," he said briskly. "You shouldn't be sleeping on the floor, not after... You better sleep on the couch tonight."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron," Hermione said irritably. "I feel pathetic enough as it is for being so damned emotional, okay? So don't you give me any special treatment. I'm fine with sleeping here."

"I wasn't going to," Ron replied quickly, raising his hands in defense. "But you've had a load of broken bones, so I thought you shouldn't give yourself more pain by kipping on the floor. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being emotional. On the contrary, you'd worry me if you weren't."

Was she really thinking that he, Ron, considered her _pathetic_, he wondered. He could, in fact, not think of a person who was _less_ pathetic than Hermione, now less than ever. He remembered how she had tried to convince Griphook of their trustworthiness hours ago. In order to do so, she had not only relived the events at Malfoy Manor, she had even gone as far as talking about her low status under the current regime and referring to herself as a 'Mudblood'. Hearing her talk like that about herself had pained Ron almost as much as her screams back in the Manor and he had hoped with all his heart that she was not going to start believing in those horrid prejudices and seeing herself as inferior - she of all persons, who had least reason to do so, wonderful and brilliant and amazing as she was. But it had been quite the contrary - she had stated with unexpected fervor that she was proud of her Muggle heritage. At those words, he had been relieved beyond measure. And of course, she was right - she had every right to be proud of herself, as he was of her. And proud he was indeed. She was so strong, so much stronger than he felt he could ever hope to be, able to freely talk about all that had happened without as much as an indication of fear or self-pity in her voice. If he had been in Hermione's place, he thought, he would have broken down long ago. How can such a person ever think of herself as _pathetic_?

Hermione looked at him; her face was in the shadows so that her expression was unrecognizable. But then she slowly stood up.

"I guess you're right. Sorry," she said softly, and Ron had a strange feeling of déjà vu of Grimmauld Place as she carried her sleeping bag over to the couch, placed it there and climbed inside.

Ron hesitated for a moment, not wanting to appear creepy or intrusive, but then he decided to follow Hermione and laid out his sleeping bag on the floor near the feet of the couch. Crouching down, he insecurely looked up at her and he was relieved to see her smiling. He started to scramble into his sleeping bag, but he had barely covered his legs when Hermione spoke again.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind... Could you please... sleep with me?"

Even in the semi-darkness, he could see that Hermione had blushed furiously at the double entendre of her words and he knew that he could not be looking much better.

"I mean... Just... You know... _Sleep_... Here... Next to me..." she spluttered awkwardly and blushed even more. "I... I don't want to be alone."

"Sure, no problem," Ron said, getting out of the gap between the coffee table and the couch and drawing Pettigrew's wand. His ears were still feeling uncomfortably warm. "_Engorgio_," he added, pointing the wand at the couch which doubled in size.

He stepped in front of the couch and lifted his sleeping bag next to Hermione, but then froze. He had never shared a bed - or couch for that matter - with her. This was going to be more intimate than anything that had been before and he did not know what to do. Was she expecting him to take her into his arms or would that be too obtrusive and all she wanted him to was really just lying next to her? Or would she consider it too cold and distant if he did just that? Was he supposed to say something? If he was, he was doomed, for he had no idea what to say.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Hermione said quickly, completely misinterpreting his lack of action, and if Ron was not very much mistaken, he could have sworn that he had heard a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"I want that," he said through the lump in his throat. "If that makes you feel better, then I want that, too."

He awkwardly climbed into his sleeping bag and much to his relief, Hermione removed his worries as she put her arms around him and, through hands and words, gently positioned him so that he was lying on his side, his chest level to her head. She wrapped her arms around his middle and snuggled close to him and he returned her embrace, feeling even more nervous than before. He did not dare to breathe normally and his heart was beating like mad; he was painfully aware that Hermione must be feeling it with her head resting against his chest. But she did not react on it and slowly, he calmed down and found himself at ease. Lying here with Hermione felt like the most natural thing on the world, just like breathing or just _being_. Feeling protective like he never had before, he tucked her head under his chin and tightened his embrace, making her emit a contented sigh. As she was lying in his arms, she felt oddly fragile.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered after a few minutes.

Ron was confused. He could not think of anything he had done that deserved a thank, nothing that anyone else would not have done as well.

"But I haven't done any-"

Hermione leaned back to look at his face.

"When will you finally stop selling yourself so short, Ron?" she reprimanded him, mildly annoyed, to continue in a more gentle tone, "You've done so much tonight alone. You saved my life. You've stayed with me. You've given me strength."

"'S nothing," Ron replied softly as Hermione leant into his chest again. "You know I'd do anything for you."

"Yes, I know," Hermione sleepily whispered back, relaxing again, and slowly drifted into a slumber.

Warmth streaming through his body, Ron watched her in her sleep, half contented, half concerned, expecting her at any moment to start flailing around and screaming as she relived her torture in her dreams, but this never happened. Eventually, he realized how tired he was. He gently kissed the top of her head and whispered the words of which he hoped that one day, he would have the heart to say them directly to her face.

"I love you, Hermione."

He gently held her closer to himself and, burying his face into her hair, drifted off into a blissfully uneventful sleep.


End file.
